


Signal Flare

by Jane St Clair (3jane)



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: D/s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jane/pseuds/Jane%20St%20Clair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts because Frank just doesn't know when to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signal Flare

It starts because Frank just doesn't know when to stop. Bob's trying to read, or watch TV, or talk to somebody, or eat, and Frank takes to attacking him: jumping on his back, slinging a friendly arm his neck that gradually slips into a chokehold.

 

The eighth or so time it happens, Bob pins Frank down on the nearest couch and presses his face into the cushions, like he thinks Frank can be *suppressed*, like a Wonderland guinea pig. Or maybe more like a flamingo, because Frankie *flails*. Bob develops a knack for putting a knee in Frank's lower back and pinning his arms behind him. Holding him until he calms the fuck *down*.

 

So he notices the first time Frank shivers.

 

Frank's breath catches whenever Bob shifts his knee up to between Frank's shoulder blades. Bob doesn't put his full weight on it, but he's still holding Frank down. And, without the pressure on his lower back, Frank can rub against the couch. Which he does. Noticeably.

 

Bob says to him, not with any particular venom, just really calmly, "Sit still."

 

Frank should be embarrassed -- would've been, but Bob's not showing any sign of being freaked, just holding Frank's arms. In fact pulls them up higher and resettles himself, knees on either side, holding one of Frank's wrists in each hand.

 

"I don't know what your problem is," Bob tells him, "but this pulling pigtails shit's gotta stop. If you want something," he says, and pushes forward on Frank's wrists for emphasis, enough to make Frankie bend forward, push his ass into the air and his face into the cushion to accommodate the angle, "you ask me for it."

 

Holds him for a minute, to make the point, then gets up and leaves him there. Frankie with his ass in the air, thinking about it.

 

It takes him a long time to ask. Days. Weeks. He's not going to lie (because Frank *doesn't*, not about this stuff) and say he's not turned on, but he wasn't looking for this. And he doesn't actually know what he's asking for, not quite. But it's there, in his head, when he makes sure he's alone with Bob in a hotel room. Where he can reach over and, really deliberately, tug on Bob's hair, right where his pigtails would be.

 

Bob moves fast. Not to the bed, where Frank kind of expected to be pinned face down again. He throws Frank up against the wall, face first, weight behind it. Strips him, messing him up that much more as he goes: t-shirt, belt, jeans, boxers off. Bob turns Frank and lays an arm across his chest, just below his throat, to keep him still.

 

Bob's not a huge guy, but Frank's small, and he's not really resisting. He arches just enough to feel Bob's arm push against his collarbone.

 

This time, it's the stripping down that turns Frank on. This slow burn that feeds down into his groin, makes him hard while Bob's watching him. Or, it's the stripping, but not because it's his clothes being taken off. It's because it's Bob pushing back for once, for real, taking. That's half of their entire interaction as friends, the teasing and needling and flying leaps: Frank pushes just to feel Bob push back. So he doesn't try to hide it. Just meets Bob's eyes and feels his blood run down.

 

Bob runs a hand down Frank's body but stops at his waist. Presses in. Looks at him. And he says, "Fine. Get on your knees."

 

Frank snorts, but when he doesn't kneel, Bob throws his weight onto Frank's shoulders. Pushes him down.

 

Frank's breath catches. And Bob looks down at him, changes the angle so Frank's bent forward. Off-balance enough that Bob can catch Frank's hands and pull them behind him, twist them into the discarded t-shirt and knot it.

 

The angle on Frank's shoulders makes him bend forward. Balance over his knees. He has to arch when Bob sinks his fingers into Frank's hair and tilts his face up to look at him.

 

Frank's not giving in easily, even now (if Bob wants this thing, he's got to prove it--Frank won't stop pushing just because he's at Bob's feet), and when Bob leans forward a little, slouches down to get his crotch level with Frank's mouth, Frank just looks at him, mouth drawn up tight and annoyed. And Bob doesn't force him, exactly, but he lays his hands at the corners of Frank's mouth, pushes a bit. Little massaging motion that's partly *relax, relax* and partly *do it do it do it now*.

 

When Frank opens, just a bit, Bob pushes a finger into his mouth and holds it there, touching Frank's tongue. Strokes it a bit.

 

Frank bites.

 

Bob squeezes Frank's jaw, presses his cheeks between his teeth, enough to keep Frank from biting down. Then hooks his finger down and pulls. It doesn't take a lot of pressure. Any force pressing in your mouth feels like a lot, and Bob's finger digging into Frank's gums hurts enough to make him flinch and let his jaw fall open.

 

He's left with his mouth more or less slack, and Bob slips a couple more fingers in. Three fingers in Frank's mouth, back on top of his tongue.

 

The breath Frank lets out (through his mouth, over Bob's hand) is shaky. Shakier than he wants it to be.

 

Bob says, "Okay, then."

 

The touch in his mouth tickles, oddly. It feels wrong and makes him want to gag and bite down and do anything to get it out. So Frank opens wider. What else can he do?

 

It's there, in the back of his mind. Not just that Bob's standing over him, but what Bob's asking him to do. It's all through him to resist it. Even with fingers in his mouth, even with hands tied behind his back, even with his dick so hard he's a little bit dizzy.

 

Bob catches Frank's chin with the palm of his hand and tilts his head higher, angle so sharp that Frank can't even swallow. "You do not want to bite me."

 

Frank glares, because it's all he can do. His back hurts and Bob's got hands over and under his jaw and it's hard for him to breathe.

 

Bob says, "I wasn't *asking*."

 

He holds Frank there until he gasps. Then lets him go suddenly, so that Frank collapses in on himself and curls up, waiting to get his breath back. It's not quite there when Bob laces his fingers back into Frank's hair and pulls his mouth back to Bob's crotch. Bob's not entirely hard, but he's getting there. Frank can feel the pressure against his lips, through Bob's jeans.

 

He can *smell* him.

 

Up close, the slick-sharp guy smell is way too much of a turn on. Like a clear, particular demand to pay attention.

 

He's surprised by how much he wants it.

 

Enough that he opens his lips a bit, snakes his tongue out and licks along the fly of Bob's jeans. Presses his face there. The farther forward he goes, the more his own weight pushes his face into Bob. He can feel Bob's hand in his hair, but he's not really paying attention to it. Instead, he runs his teeth over the cloth, chews at it, pushing the "don't bite" order as far as he can.

 

Bob's laughing at him, very quietly, just a soft huff of breath.

 

Frank sinks his teeth in. All he gets is cloth, but he can feel Bob's skin under there. Bob's fingers tighten and he's pulled back, and Bob says, "Get up." As if he has a choice.

 

It's not easy. He can't *not* get up, not with Bob pulling his hair, but it's a scramble. And once Frank's up, he's still off-balance. Scrambling after Bob across the room, hard shocks on his knees, until Bob gets to a chair and sinks into it, dragging Frank's head down and his body after it.

 

There's this second when his face is pressed into Bob's thigh and he can't see anything at all. It means he only he hears Bob unzip. Doesn't see it, but he can smell it, right away. It's not bad, just a stronger version of the male-body pheromone-kick he had earlier. And when he raises his head--mostly voluntary, just an edge of Bob yanking him up--it's right there in front of his face.

 

Bob says, "Suck me. Do *not* bite." And then Bob's hand is moving him, easy, almost gently, and when he puts Frank's mouth over his cock and pushes in between his lips, Frank is watching his face.

 

It's not mean, just tense. He's watching Frank watch him. Just an edge of the face any guy makes when he's having his dick sucked.

 

Frank's eyes slide closed almost immediately once his mouth closes around Bob's cock, like he has the presence of mind to see or feel but not both. Bob's not huge and not thrusting, but just holding him in his mouth is taking all Frank's attention. It's only an inch or two, but it's new enough, weird enough, that he has to slow his thoughts and concentrate on breathing around it. Careful of his teeth, trying not to gag on his own tongue.

 

Bob's hands are on Frank's head, but not in his hair, just holding him. Little massage of the fingertips against his scalp.

 

His heart's pounding, still, almost enough to throw him off-balance when he first really closes his lips around the cock in his mouth and sucks experimentally.

 

It's. It's a lot like having Bob's fingers in his mouth, only bigger, more concentrated. Different taste. Bob's wet at the tip, just enough that Frank can feel it in his mouth, not his own spit and it makes him jerk back for a second. Not far, because Bob's hands are still on his head, and he can pull back but he can't pull off. But far enough that Bob's fingers tense, and he can feel the tug on his hair, a reminder he can't just walk away from this.

 

It takes a while, getting used to the feeling of breathing with his mouth wide open and still blocked, fucking impaled. And he can't even touch himself. He's got his own knees apart for balance, and his hands are tied behind him.

 

He doesn't have any room to maneuver when Bob pushes in a bit farther. Maybe another half inch. Another inch. It's a huge distance when it's in his mouth.

 

Can't touch himself, can't touch Bob, feel the weight of Bob's cock in his hand -- that he's done before. He's given hand jobs. It doesn't compare to this, the weight and the head of Bob's cock tapping the roof of his mouth if he's not careful. Every time it happens he has to remember to breathe through his nose. Try not to think what he'll do if Bob just lets go and pushes in all the way. Frank tilts his head some, trying to angle differently, to keep his mouth closed around him and not gag at the same time.

 

He wonders what it would be like to *really* gag, to choke on it.

 

His cock jerks when he thinks about it, and maybe he whimpers, just a little.

 

Enough to get Bob's attention. One hand comes to the side of Frank's face and Bob says, "Look at me."

 

It takes a lot for Frank to do it, to meet Bob's eyes when he's got Bob's cock down his throat. It feels like it, anyway, and he has to tilt his head a little to look up and it presses Bob's cock down. This angle where suddenly he can (almost) take it when Bob pushes.

 

Breathing frantically, hands on his jaw holding him open.

 

Just for a second he thinks he's going to choke, that he can't do this, and then he feels hair brush his lips, realizes he's pretty much all the way down. Then he knows what it *really* feels like, to have Bob buried in him. He can't see Bob's face anymore.

 

God, he needs to breathe. He wants to *stay* there.

 

Frank holds still for what feels like a long time before he panics, has to pull back.

 

Bob lets him go, only lets the pressure settle on Frankie's skull when he's down to a couple of inches, just enough to keep his mouth open. It leaves him shivering and panting, and really, Frank thinks, he wants to do that again.

 

Deep breath, and he shakes the loose hand off the top of his head and moves away from the one behind. Goes down, pushing himself over Bob, watching Bob's face right up until the moment the angle makes it impossible. Shifts his tongue just a bit as he settles. He can hear Bob hiss.

 

He doesn't press in quite as far as Bob had pushed him, but it's still deep, enough for his nose to press against Bob's belly.

 

And maybe, really, he's glad to have this thing in his mouth, keeping him quiet. Frank thinks otherwise he might say things he's not sure he wants to say out loud, like possibly things about Bob fucking him. Up close, Bob smells so fucking good. Male, different from every girl he's ever gone down on. No time he's given head before has it ever felt like this.

 

Feels weird to think that he's relaxed right now, but he is, in a way. He is where Bob put him, where he has no choice but to be. There's something comforting in that.

 

Bob strokes Frank's hair. There's no pressure on the back of his head, now. Frank can pull off enough to get his breath back, push down again.

 

All thoughts of fighting have melted out of his bones, the jitter of the fight is gone, and in their place is that determination to swallow Bob down and feel his cock fill Frank's mouth, steal his words and breath and worry. Until his jaw aches. Until his whole body rebels and he has to pull back. Not off, though. He balances there, holding Bob in his mouth and not thinking, and then he tries sucking for real.

 

His teeth graze Bob the first time, and right there, the hand's back. He sucks gently, apologetically, at the head.

 

He just. He wants it to feel good. Just, he's still sorting this out: how to suck and tighten his lips and pull his teeth back and angle this right. Pull until Bob's cock is pressed against his hard palate and there's tension all through his jaw. Sometimes just the head and sometimes the shaft too. He can take it deeper, sometimes. Rub his tongue over the flesh in his mouth.

 

If he pulls back enough, he can slide his tongue into the slit, and *that* gets Bob's attention.

 

Not a hiss, though. Something closer to a growl, and Bob pushes, not hard, but inescapably deeper into Frank's mouth. Pulls back and pushes in again. Frank angles his jaw a little so it can slide in deeper. It's the closest he can come right now to saying "fuck me."

 

All he can do is open up, offer himself to whatever Bob wants. Like, if Bob really thrust, he'd take it.

 

Just right now, he thinks that if Bob laid him out on the floor and fucked him, he'd spread his legs and take that too.

 

He hopes, just a little, that will Bob shove in and fuck his mouth, just so Frank can show him. How willing he is right now, how much he'd take and fucking choke on if Bob wanted. Bob pulls back, though. Slouches down in the chair and spreads his knees, and Frank scrambles closer in between them, until he can feel Bob's thighs against his shoulders.

 

Frank leans in, puts everything he has into sucking Bob off. Pulls hard, pushes deep, rubs his lips against Bob's belly when he's pushed all the way down. Rides him through the hip-buck that follows. Thinks, vaguely, it might be better if he had to just take that too. He wants Bob's hands on him, holding him there.

 

He stays close until Bob gets it. Wraps around him, hands on his shoulders and one knee hooked *over* his shoulder so Frank can't escape. One hand crawls up the back of his head and holds him while Frank sucks, eyes closed.

 

He gets a tug in his hair, after a couple more minutes, but he's not ready to stop. He can take this, he doesn't *need* a break. He can ride it out when Bob thrusts at him.

 

He's not quite ready when Bob comes in his mouth, though.

 

He flinches, coughs a little. He didn't have any idea what it was going to taste like, and his first reflex is to spit. Bob's still holding onto him, though, and his cock's still in Frank's mouth, and to spit he'd have to pull back. It takes most of the concentration in his body to make himself swallow, but Bob relaxes the fingers in Frank's hair a little when he does. Strokes down the back of his neck. Frank stays there, sucking gently, until Bob's hands come to his cheeks and ease him back.

 

He pulls away carefully, sucking as he does -- careful not to leave a sloppy mess. Licks the head as it slides out of his mouth. He looks up at Bob before he remembers his eyes are still closed.

 

When he opens them it almost hurts. He's seeing stars a little, they were shut so tightly.

 

Bob's a bit unfocussed-looking, but he's right there, watching Frank. Smiling at him. They're quiet for a minute before Bob gets up.

 

He has to step over Frank to do it. Knee over his head, and then he's behind him, tucking himself back into his jeans, and stepping out of Frank's field of vision. Only the fingers in his hair tell him where Bob is.

 

Frank sits back on his heels, because he can't do much else. He tries not to shake.

 

The fingers in his hair stroke his scalp for a minute, and then Bob kneels down behind him. Knees on either side of Frank's hips, pulling until Frank's weight falls back onto Bob's shoulder. Without the distraction of sucking off Bob, he's awake and aware enough to realize his cock is throbbing. He thinks about getting loose, jerking off, getting out of here. Except, Bob turns Frank's face to the side and kisses him over his shoulder.

 

Not deep, just a pull on his lips, but it's a sharp angle, intense enough for Frank to pant again.

 

While their lips are still locked, Bob reaches forward, catches one of Frank's nipples between two fingers, and twists.

 

Frank's hips snap forward. It hurts fuck like he can't believe, but there's a wire from that to his cock. He can feel it jump. He's leaking from this.

 

Wonders how long Bob can play with him before he'll beg. Only Bob's mouth is keeping him from talking now, and as soon as Bob pulls back, Frank knows he'll be babbling. Begging for it. Finds himself wishing for Bob's cock in his mouth again just to stop himself babbling.

 

He doesn't get it, but when Bob breaks the kiss, when he releases Frank's nipple -- and *fuck* that hurts, brighter with the release even than it was at the hardest twist -- Bob brings a forefinger back to Frank's mouth. Slides his thumb in next to it.

 

Just for a second, Frank pictures Bob using those fingers to fuck him, just as soon as they're slick enough.

 

He wouldn't be able to stop him. Bob could push him now and Frank would just fall, down onto his chest, onto his face, and his knees would already be apart. He's had a girlfriend finger him there exactly once before they broke up, and he still remembers how good it felt.

 

Behind him, Bob whispers, "You'd love it."

 

Frank moans around Bob's fingers. It easy to let them in now, it's nothing compared to how it was the first time, compared to Bob's cock. They slide out and back in easily and Frank's eyes are shut without him even thinking about it, seeing it all in his mind so vividly it's like he *is* watching.

 

It's like having his face slammed into the cushions all over again, but better, Bob making good on the checks his hands wrote then. There isn't anything Frank wouldn't take right now. All Bob would have to do to push him right over is tighten his hold and yank him back onto his dick.

 

He could take it. He's sure he could.

 

He's willing to prove it. He'd ride him. Slam back if he has to. The sounds Bob made, just at the end of the blowjob, he wants to hear those again.

 

Bob laughs, and Frank wonders how much of that he just said out loud. It doesn't matter. It's all true. He can take it. He's sure.

 

Bob says, "Next time."

 

Frank is *pissed*, because God, he could so fucking take it. He doesn't fucking care that he's never done it before, he wants it *now*, wants whatever Bob will give him, wants to be fucked open and used and Bob won't fucking give him want he wants, the son of a bitch. He struggles, really struggles, for the first time, fighting to get up on his knees, and then Bob's up against his back, body pressed to Frank's hands and arms, laughing softly. He only catches for a second when Frank makes his half-numb fingers close against Bob's crotch.

 

Bob repeats, "Next time. If you're good." And wraps a hand around Frank's cock.

 

It's almost enough to make Frank forget about getting fucked entirely. Bob's fingers are slick from Frank's mouth, and wrapped around him *tight*, so tight for a second Frank forgets how to breathe. The grip loosens just enough to move, tight and fast and hard.

 

It's sudden and shocking and Frank feels the pressure building so fast it terrifies him, that it will be over so soon. This knot in his belly that pulls guitar-string taut and then just snaps, so hard and sharp he yells while he comes.

 

Eyes open and completely arched back against Bob, who doesn't let go, just keeps jerking him while Frank shoots over his own thighs and belly. Slicked fingers move on his cock until it starts to hurt and Frank twists away hard.

 

When Bob pulls his hand away, Frank folds in on himself, chest to thighs, panting.

 

His shoulders fucking *ache*.

 

It takes him a second to focus again on Bob's hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing. And maybe his hands are numb, because he doesn't realize Bob's loosening the t-shirt until his arms come loose. Pulls them up beside him and crouches there, weight on his forearms.

 

Bob's still there, hand on his back, waiting. He doesn't move much, just enough that his fingers are rubbing over the knobs of Frank's spine. His hand feels heavy.

 

This one kiss on the back of his neck.

 

Bob pulls Frank up from the floor and hauls him into his lap. Both arms tight around Frank and Bob's mouth against his temple. Rocking him. Quiet until Frank re-centers. Louder, more like laughing, when Frank squirms up to straddle Bob's thighs, naked over his jeans, and wraps arms around his neck to kiss him. They make out on the floor for a long time, tipped over and laid out, and Bob scratches Frank's back and laughs when he purrs.

 

Frank says, "Promise," against Bob's hair.

 

"What?"

 

"Next time. Promise you'll fuck me."

 

Bob snorts. "Yeah, next time."

 

"Promise me."

 

Bob looks Frank over. He's been slow and quiet for a long time, so Frank isn't quite ready when Bob snaps a hand over his eyes. He's fucking *strong*, and his hand's big enough there's no light left. This second of blindness and his head pinned and Bob whispers to him, "If you're good. If you can behave like a normal human being, and not an eight-year-old on crack." Lips brush his temple. "I'm not going to spend the rest of the night keeping you in line." Pause. "Then yeah, next time."

 

Frank nods. The dark Bob's hand creates is helping, actually. Like visual quiet. He presses his face forward a bit, into the hand, feels Bob push back.

 

Finally says, "Okay."

 

Bob lets go. Eases Frank onto the floor and uncovers his eyes and gets up. He drags his fingers through Frank's hair for a second and grins at him. And walks away. Just as far as the bathroom, but he leaves Frank there on the floor, naked and watching him. Bob looks back from the door. He says, "Get your clothes together." And locks himself away.

 

Frank sits for a while first, arms around his knees. When he puts his face down, under his hair, he can almost get that total darkness back. Breathes until he's calm. Then picks up his clothes. Bob hasn't kicked him out; he's almost sure of that. He doesn't have to get totally dressed. Boxers go on, and his t-shirt. Frank pauses with the shirt over his face and smells it, like it might smell like Bob instead of him. Wonders what it'd take to get Bob to use something of his own.

 

Curls up on the bed to wait, watching the closed bathroom door and licking the taste of Bob off his lips.

 


End file.
